


Kinda Got Used To Havin' You Around

by astrothsknot



Series: No More I Love Yous [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Eddie Jilette is my favourite character, F/M, I love this trope like woah, I may have taken some liberties with immigration law, I've never been to new york, Marriage of Convenience, Slow Burn, Sometimes I write romance, cops in new york, found this on my computer and quite like it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 05:01:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10564146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrothsknot/pseuds/astrothsknot
Summary: You can't share space with someone and not get to know them





	

**Author's Note:**

> I found this on a hard drive and thought I'd put it up. It was written years ago and is unbeta'd. I'm probably not going to fix errors and glitches

Kinda got used to havin’ you around 12.04-2.05

Original fic  
NC17 for het sex and language

Life should be really simple, y’know? I was getting married to a pal, for a favour to keep her in the country, and to help her get her citizenship so she could stay a cop. Two years and we’d be done.

I’m not denying I liked her company. A man can’t spend two years avoiding his home. That’s no life for anyone. So, stands to reason that we’d have to get along. I’m not used to sharing my space, but I figured we’d get along fine. We got along well enough at work. She wasn’t very girly, couldn’t be assed with make-up, or clothes. Didn’t give a shit what J-Lo or some other starlet was wearing, fucking or starring with. She was always in jeans or sweats when she was out of uniform, and only owned one pair of high heels, and even they were fairly low. All the rest of her footwear was either running shoes or hiking boots. Apart from her name, Francesca, the only thing that was remotely feminine about her was her long black hair, and even that was tied back all the time. 

I knew there’d be friction, there always is. My place wasn’t dirty, though I would admit that it was untidy, look I got other things to care about than tidying up. Having said that, I never brought anyone back, because I knew what they’d see, and my chance at a little less conversation would be taking its action right back out.

Well, she cleaned it. Top to bottom. I came back from the gym, and I just stood looking at my apartment, dumbfounded. I couldn’t speak for about 5 minutes. I mean, Christ, I had a carpet!

“What?” She said, mildly, barely glancing at me, as she sat reading a magazine. I looked at the mag for a moment, wondering it if was Cosmo or one of those true crime or scandal sheets that my mom reads. Nope, it was something about mountain bikes. She had another two nearby, about hiking and wildlife in the great American outdoors.

“You tidied.” Yeah, OK, it was a dumb thing to say.

“So I did. Make a cup of tea while you’re there.”

I went into the kitchen, began putting the kettle on. “Look, I know I said make yourself at home, but that don’t mean you got the right to rearrange -” by this time I'd gone into the cutlery drawer, and found exactly what I had been looking for. I opened the units in the kitchen, and found everything where I'd put it, just tidier. And cleaner. She’d scrubbed the inside of the units. “Oh,” was all I could say.

“I’ve moved nothing, just tidied. I’ve not done your room, that’s your space,” she said from the couch. “But I live here, too. I have to feel comfortable, and I didn’t the way things were.”

For a moment I saw how difficult this whole thing was for her. Strange country, strange people, strange husband, cut off from everything that was familiar. I’d always lived here, was born and raised in the city. I could never have done what she had. Never would have had the guts.

I handed her a cup of tea. “It’s cool,” I replied. “It’s been a long time since it’s been this clean. You’ve done a really good job.”

“Don’t worry, I don’t expect you to turn into Martha Stewart, and run a duster round the place before work,” she smiled. Blushing a little, I noticed, and looking away. She shifted in her seat. It was such a natural reaction, it was sweet to see.

OK, I didn’t start dusting, not straight away, but I did run the Hoover round every few days, and if something was lying around, I put it away. I even washed the dishes, rather than piling them all up around the sink.

It didn’t take us long to fall into a routine. We took it in turns to do the laundry and the shopping. I had to admit, marriage had some advantages. I liked coming home to a house that clean and neat, always being able to find stuff, eating a decent packed lunch, home cooking. She’s into all that healthy eating. I work out, gotta keep fit if you’re a cop, but I'm not one for the rabbit food, or cooking. I can’t be assed with “julienne this carrot, sauté this lettuce leaf.” I take the easy option, and let my fingers do the walking with a takeout menu.

“It’s time for our meal break,” said Monroe, my partner. Francesca had been there about a month. As usual, we’d stopped outside of Burger King. “My turn, you want the usual?”

“Just a coffee’s fine,” I replied. “I brought something with me.” I pulled out a roll, as Francesca calls them. They’re a bun to anyone else. Monroe nearly choked. “What the fuck is that?” She was somewhere between disbelief, and laughing.

“Lemon pepper chicken with lettuce on wholemeal.” I replied. “I got another one; you can try it if you like.” I held the other one out to her. Monroe hesitated for a bit, then took it. “Hey that’s really good. It’s like one of those sandwiches you get in a deli, but better. Even the bread tastes homemade -” she saw my face. “It is? No shit? You landed on your feet there.” 

“She’s a really good cook, enjoys it. It doesn’t take her long to cook stuff, either. She just prepares stuff for an hour in the morning, then freezes it. Y’know, in batches.” I licked my fingers. “She even made hamburgers last night, with all the trimmings. But her coffee still sucks.”

“Can’t have everything. Does she cook dinner as well?” Monroe asked. “What started that off anyway? I thought you’d been in a better mood lately. She’s stopped all that sodium in your diet. It’s been proven that it’s bad for you. If it makes you nicer to drive with, I'm all for it.” 

“She does them for herself, saw me looking at one of her - baguettes, I think they’re called - with some salad and some meat thing she cooked the night before, and said, ‘I’m as quick making for two as one,’ which was what she said when she took over the cooking. I was kinda wary at first,” I said. “But I'd spent three nights smelling what she was cooking when we got in from work. She can make something delicious in about half an hour. She’d always offer me some, and so I'd give in.” 

“Not that she had force you!” Monroe was laughing again. “I know, when you get off at 11.15pm, you are starving.”

“Put it this way, I’ve never felt hungry, and I’ve never felt better. I have more money as well, because fresh food costs about a third less than a week of take out.” I rolled up my cellophane into a ball, ready for the bin. “It's an added bonus, leaves me more money to spend on my passion.” 

“Oh, Christ, don’t spout off about that goddamn car again! I haven’t been that bad this week!”

“Don’t diss my car. It’s a classic American car. Good parts aren’t cheap.” I defended my pride and joy.

“It’s a 1973 Charger, and classic means that it’s so old that Moses used to drive one, and so shit that only lunatics like you drive them. Get laid already.” Monroe was still sniggering.

It was weird how quick I got used to her being around. It was hard to imagine what it had been like before she came. Sitting in front of the TV with our supper watching a movie, discussing our favourite films, or favourite endings. “I choose Carlito’s way and Goodfellas, because it doesn’t glamorise the effect of being a gangster. I get so sick of all those films. Real blacks and Italians are decent hardworking people.” I said, during one of our film marathons. “My grandfather was given a broom, and told to sweep. He swept every floor they’d pay him to do, until he could afford to by a bar, and keep his family. People like my dad have fucked it up for the rest of us. OK, your films.” 

Francesca’s films were Mary Poppins, highly relevant to the modern family, Dumbo, made with scab labour, Brief Encounter, there was no way the husband didn’t know, and yeah, you could totally remake that film today without making them sleep together. Plenty people are in love with people and they’ll never do anything about it. And people forget that she was going to sleep with him, at his friends’ flat. It was only the friend coming back, and making her see how tawdry it was, that stopped her.

But her favourite was No Mercy, she just loved the ending. It was far more realistic than sweeping in to Karen’s work in his whites and carrying her off. It was totally in keeping with this flawed, if essentially good character who’s been round the block a few times, is just trying to do his best. Michele is free, he is free, and there’s these few shots of her from different angles and he’s in a few, and you can see in his face that he’s trying to work out what to for the best, he’s earned the right not to lie to himself anymore, and then he says it. He lays out exactly who he is, the worst parts of himself. It’s more real. 

As well as films, she watched documentaries. I got National Geographic just for her. Even I found them interesting. I couldn’t understand the more scientific ones, but it gave us something to talk about. And we did talk. I said more to her about Life, the universe and everything, than I ever had to my bartender. She was just so easy to talk to. Hell, I even surprised myself with some of the things I came out with. There was one time with Monroe in the squad car, and we were just cruising around our beat, listening to some quiz on the radio. I was answering the questions straight off. I got most of them right, and Monroe was just looking at me. 

“Where would you learn all that stuff?” She’d asked in amazement. Monroe is smart, and I'd beat her score.

“I’m more than just a pretty face,” I grinned, pleased that she wasn’t looking at me like I was an asshole. It felt really good watching her reappraise me. “We’ve got National Geographic.”

“I can see Francesca watching it, but you? I’d have thought you would be propping up a bar somewhere.”

“This time last year, I would have been, but why go out for a Big Mac, when I can have steak at home.” I was still grinning.

“Well, married life suits you, you’re definitely not as much of a dick as you used to be, and I mean that as a compliment,” she said.

“It’s not as bad as I thought it was going to be,” I replied honestly, before I realised what I was saying. Well, it was the truth.

“If you thought it was going to be that awful why did you get married?” She asked. There must have been something in my face, because she sussed me right out. “You did it so she could stay here.”

“Yeah.”

“We all thought so. Well, I won’t rat you out. Are you fucking her?” My partner asked wickedly. Then we got a call, and the conversation was left.

Well, if there was a fly in the ointment, it was that. I had a busy social (read: sex) life before I got married, and I had to forego that now, in case IMS caught on, and deported Francesca. Much as I liked her as a friend, she’d didn’t melt my butter, as she would have put it. She didn’t stop me going out, didn’t keep tabs on me, but that didn’t mean that others weren’t. I’m not saying I never went out on the town, just that I couldn’t let anything come to a head. 

That said, after the first few months it wasn’t so hard, because I’d found that I actually enjoyed staying in. But a guy has needs, y’know? 

We work a shift pattern that’s 7 on 2 off, and for those days, Francesca would vanish. I couldn’t even raise her on the cell phone. Her rucksack, boots, the Land Rover Defender that she’d had imported with her from Scotland and/or her bike would vanish come the end of shift on her seventh night, and she’d turn up at some point before work 2 days later. She’d be covered in mud and dog tired. I’d just rattle around the apartment, work overtime, go see my mom, who thought it was weird that we spent our days off apart, when we were so clearly used to spending the rest of our time together. 

I gotta admit, it did feel weird. “You’ll end up like the Blair Witch, you know,” I warned her. 

“Jersey Devil,” she corrected me. “I can take care of myself. I’m a cop for Christ’s sake. I always have my off-duty firearm with me. And I never mess around with my safety precautions. Stop worrying.”

“You never tell me where you are,” I complained. “What if you’re needed and I can’t get you. You don’t tell me who you’re with either.”

“I go alone. I prefer that. I’m not held up by anyone. And I don’t know where I'll be until I get there.”

“What if a bear eats you? Or you find a guy dumping a body?” I persisted.

“Then I'll shoot them both with my off duty firearm. What is your problem?” She asked, a little confused by the sudden interest.

“I’m just concerned, that’s all. Things can happen to the best of us.” It was a valid excuse, and yeah, I was worried about it.

“You’re just worried I'll meet someone else before the two years is up, and you’ll lose your housekeeper,” she teased.

“Bullshit,” I snapped back. There was truth in what she said, but it wasn’t my housekeeper I was frightened of losing, it was my closest friend. Monroe hadn’t been lying when she’d said that looked happier now than I ever had. It was true, I was happier. I didn’t want to lose that.

But how the hell do you tell someone that? Without it sounding more than you mean it to be? Especially when they don’t feel the same way. I knew she liked me fine as a friend, liked living with me, but at the end of the day, it was plain that this was just for three years. Everything else aside, this was temporary. I’d happily have gone on with it for the rest of my life. But Francesca thought I felt the same way. If I told her, it would look like what she said was true. I didn’t want to risk our friendship, either.

I’m one of those guys who find it hard to make friends. Yeah, I got a lot of buddies, and yeah, at the bar I go to - my mom owns it - everyone knows me, but it ain’t the same thing. A buddy is not a friend. A buddy is someone who’ll buy you a beer when you’re broke. A friend is someone who’ll sit with you in the middle of fucking nowhere in the middle of winter freezing their ass off while you go through cold turkey. I got maybe two people who’d do something like that for me, not counting my mom.

Christmas was coming round, our first one. Normally I'd spend it at my mom’s, then go for a couple of drinks at my old partner’s house, but this year, we’d be expected to spend it together.

I saw her coming away from the Lieu’s office, and she looked down. I caught Monroe’s eye, and she nodded. “Hey,” I said to Francesca. “What’s the matter?”

“I wanted a fortnight off to go see my mum and dad. I can just about afford to fly out for Christmas, but neither of us can afford for them to come out here. I just really wanted to see them. I’ve not seen them for 9 months.”

It was a shock to think she hadn’t thought about Christmas with me. My mom had been talking about it just that morning, asking what she should get her, and how she was looking forward to coming to us for a change. As I was now married, I should have her over, instead of the other way around. We had Christmas and Boxing Day off, but we were working the rest of that fortnight. Despite myself, I said, “We’ll have a good time anyway. Me and mom’ll make it special for you. Besides, it’s our first Christmas. It’ll look strange if we were apart. You couldn’t have gone anywhere, anyway, even if you wanted to.”

“I know that, I was going to ask if you’d come with me. You and my brother could have bored the shit out of us by yapping about cars all night.” Francesca’s brother was into sports cars. We’d had long instant message convos on the subject. We’d even found and shipped parts to each other. For some reason, Honda parts are cheaper here, and stuff for Chargers, which were never released in the UK are cheaper there. Go figure.

“I would have come,” I told her, and she smiled a little at that. “But hey, you’ll get the snow, here.”

“True. It’s one thing I miss about home, is that the weather never changes. It’s just one constant rainy season. Can we build a snowman?”

“In my mom’s garden, as big as you like. Now, go to work, officer.” I slapped her ass, and she winked at me. 

Monroe was looking at me, as I watched Francesca go. “You are fucking her! I knew it!” 

“A man has needs, what else can I say?” I grinned at Monroe. “Don’t tease her, OK, she’s finding it hard being away from her family at Christmas. She can’t even call them, they live in a completely different time zone.”

Monroe nodded. “How far behind are they? I’d hate to be away from my family. You’ll just have to make it extra special for her. What are you getting her?”

“Um, about five hours. I don’t know. She’s not into all that perfume and flowers, and what she does like I haven’t a clue about. You wanna drive?” I offered.

“OK, I'll drive till meal break, then we can swap over.” Monroe got in the drivers seat. “She likes the great outdoors, yeah? Why not ask her for a list of things she wants and get them for her? Or give her the money, tell her to buy it, and you wrap it. Get her to do the same for you.”

“I like that idea,” I said, then we got our first call of the afternoon, and that was that.

I brought it up that night, when we were sitting in front of the TV. She’d done something with a chicken, and God, it was good. I told her what Monroe had said.

“I was going to suggest something similar,” she said. “It would look suss if we didn’t get something decent for each other. How much do you want to spend? I’d say $50 is a reasonable figure.”

“Fair enough,” I replied. I looked over to the chair by my bedroom, and saw two boxes. “What the hell is that?”

“Christmas decs. You mum brought some over, and I thought we could do with a tree. It’s a fibre optic one, so it won’t need decorating. I didn’t think that either of us could do with the flat done up like a whore at Mardi Gras.”

“Why haven’t you got it up yet?” I asked. 

“Not had a chance, have I?” 

I went over to the longer of the two boxes, and began to open it. “What’re you doing?” Asked Francesca.

“I’m going to put it up now.”

“Wouldn’t have thought that you bothered about that shit.”

“Well, shows you what you know about me. What’s wrong with making an effort at Christmas? Besides if I'm having a tree, then I'm having a tree.” I looked at it more closely. “We could hang a few balls, and some tinsel on it, long as they’re light.” There were some things in my mom’s box that fitted the bill. It took about ten minutes to put it up.

“When I was a kid it took about four hours to put the tree up, me and mom. It was all full of bits and pieces that I'd made at school, or mom would take us to Central Park to look for pine cones and we’d make wreaths and garlands with them and some wire. Paint them up with glitter and put them on the tree.”

“My mum’s tree’s like that, all wee bits and bobs. She spends about 6 hours fighting with the lights, and the rest of the time rearranging the tree, and moving stuff around. She'd put decs up all over the house, and my poor dad would spend his time shifting them around till she was happy. She never is.” Francesca’s face looked soft in the light from the tree, smiling a little, but also kind of sad.

“What did your dad say to that?” I knew what my dad would have said. 

“One year he’d put everything away, when mum says ‘that one’s squint.’ Dad says 'I'm not moving it.’ Mum says ‘fine, I'll just moan about it all Christmas.’”

“What happened then?” I asked. She was smiling, so it couldn’t have been bad.

“My dad went out to the shed in the rain, brought the ladder back, moved the star or whatever it was, then took the ladder back out to the shed, came back in, and started reading his book again.” We laughed.

“You’re lucky.” I said it lightly, but there must have been something in my face.

“Yeah,” she sighed. “I think he loves her. And us. I’m lucky, I had a good childhood.”

We were quiet for a while before I said, “How come you’ve never said I should make up with my father?” I usually got that this time of year.

“Not my place. I wasn’t there; I didn’t see what he did to your mum, or to you. I don’t believe that blood is thicker than water, or we wouldn’t all shit on our nearest and dearest in the first place. If you can forgive or put up with them still doing what they do, well good for you, but people shouldn’t force it on you just cause you share DNA.” She paused, before continuing. “You find that those who preach forgiveness either come from such wonderful families that they can’t imagine that other people don’t, or they are so desperate for affection that anyone will do. I think they need professional help.”

I couldn’t say anything, just nod. Somehow, we found ourselves hugging, just holding each other tight. It felt so good to be close to someone, I felt safe, in a way I hadn’t done since I'd been a little kid. We stayed like that, until our asses were so numb that we couldn’t feel them.

Still holding her, I said quietly, “Why don’t we go tomorrow, into the backwoods and find some pinecones for the tree. Paint them, put them on with wire.”

Francesca didn’t answer. I pulled back slightly, saw she’d fallen asleep. I picked her up awkwardly, carried her to her room, put her in bed. After a moment’s hesitation, I got in beside her, snuggling in to her warmth. I fell asleep. 

She was already up when I woke the next morning. I heard her banging around in the kitchen, as she made breakfast. “Hi,” she said morosely, once I'd got out of the shower. I didn’t take any offence at her tone, she was always like this in the morning. I’d even gotten her a mug that said “I don’t do mornings.” I’d been passing some street peddler, seen it, and had to get it. We’d moved him along right after that. She’d laughed, and it was the mug she used most. “Any coffee going?” I asked, keeping my tone light and friendly. 

She poured some for me. “There’s toast as well.” 

“Thanks.” I took some. “I’ve been thinking about that tree. It needs more decorations. I thought we could go and get some pine cones from the forests. Some paint, some wire, and away we go.”

Francesca shrugged. “If you want, but you got the wrong boots for it. Could break your ankle, otherwise. Why don’t you just look in Central Park for them?”

“Because it’s not the same. I wanna see why you spend so much time there. I thought that it could be your present to me.” 

“If that’s what you want, but I thought you’d prefer something for the car. The exhaust sounds like it’s about to go.” This was shaping up to be quite a conversation for this time of the day, and the strain was starting show in Francesca’s voice.

My wife, everybody. Not. A. Morning. Person.

“Why don’t you go and have a shower? I’ll clear up this. We can go for them after that.” I picked up her plate, just as she finished her toast. I got a nuclear strength scowl for my trouble. I almost dropped the plate.

Francesca banged into the bathroom, and I heard water running. She emerged about 20 minutes later. Hair up as normal, and her mood hadn’t improved much, though she was trying to be civil.

About 30 minutes later, we were upstairs in a shop called Tiso. She’d not said much on the way over, just one word answers, and it was getting hard to carry on with a pleasant conversation.

There were rows and rows of boots, and I looking at them, picking them up. They went up in price from about $40 to nearly $200. “Don’t look at the cheapest,” she said. “Each is priced for what job it’s gotta do. This pair -” she held up some low priced Eurotrek boots “- are for light hiking. Good for starting out with. This pair,” she picked up another pair that looked altogether more heavy duty “are for the Himalayas, and mountains of that size and terrain.”

Something must have showed on my face, because Francesca started to giggle. “Don’t worry. Even I wouldn’t do that. Not yet. A few years from now, I'm going climbing in the Cascades, but in summer.” She paused for a moment. “I can’t fathom Yank sizes. What size are you?” 

I told her as I sat down on the stool, taking off my boots. She sent the assistant to get a packet of thick socks of that size. I looked doubtfully at them as she put them on my feet. Then the weirdness of the situation struck me, and I started to smile.

Francesca and the assistant began to discuss boots over my head. The assistant, picked up a pair, flexed them. “So it’s just a little bit hill-walking just now? Try these.”

Francesca shook her head. “The West Highland way can wait just now. But that’s the idea.” She took another pair, flexed them herself. She handed them to me. “Try these.”

The assistant picked up another pair, flexed them. They were too stiff, and he put them back.

In the meantime, I'd put on the ones Francesca had picked out for me. “Walk around, see how they feel,” she said.

I walked. “That feels weird. I feel restricted.”

“Don’t know how. You’re used to boots,” Francesca pointed out.

The assistant stepped in here. “It’s different from other boots. They don’t have that amount of padding for a start. Timby boots are just for fashion, really. Walking around the city. I wouldn’t want to go up to Yosemite with them.” He picked up another pair. “These?” 

Francesca shook her head. “He’ll get his feet wet walking through wet grass with those.” She pointed to a pair. “What about those? They look like a good compromise.”

She picked them up, flexed them. She knelt down and unlaced the boots I was wearing, then helped me into the new pair, laced them up for me. I looked at her with amused disbelief. “So you’re either doing your Cinderella act or you have some really weird fetishes that I should have been told about.”

The assistant laughed at this. Francesca winked. “You’ll have plenty time to find out. How do they feel?”

I got up and walked around. “They feel better.” I caught her eye, and she nodded. “Looks like we’ll take them, then.”

We took our purchase down to the car, and as I put it in the trunk, she looked at it doubtfully. 

“What?” I asked.

“The car might be fine for pottering around town, but I'm not sure I'd trust it for rural areas. Best take my 4x4.”

“I’m not being driven by you,” I told her, firmly. “I can handle a stick.” 

“You’re not driving my Land Rover. I’m used to a right hand drive. You’re not. I’m also used to rural terrain. A drunk in an alley is not the same as a pothole.”

“You’re the only person in New York who uses an offroader for offroading,” I laughed as I held open the door for her. Francesca leaned over, and opened my door for me.

“So when do you want to go? Tonight, when shift’s over? It’s our days off tomorrow. We could come back up tomorrow afternoon, do all the painting stuff tomorrow night.” She did up her seatbelt as she spoke, and it occurred to me that I had done so as well.

“I never bothered with a seatbelt before I met you,” I said suddenly. “We’ll have to stop off at an arts shop to get the glitter and stuff, and the wire.”

“Yeah, so? It's the law where I'm from. It’s so natural to me, that couldn’t even think of not wearing it.” Francesca replied absently. “We’ve both seen enough of what can happen when folk don’t wear one.”

“We spending the night in the car?” I asked, not looking forward to that.

“Fuck, no. Too cold. No, we’ll go to a chalet in the woods that I've got the use of. The owner rents them out in the winter for what he’d get a week in the summer. We’ll pack what we need before we go, and I've got a stove and sleeping bags in the back, all the time. Food as well. Even got a two-man tent.” 

“Well, you never know when you’ll need that kind of stuff,” I said.

Francesca turned and looked at me. “Are you taking the piss?”

“Yep.” We burst out laughing.

23.28 saw us making our way out the city. Gradually the traffic thinned out as we got further and further into the country, off the beaten track, until it was just us for several hours. We didn’t speak in the SUV, just listened to some CD that was in the stereo. It hadn’t snowed, but it was frosty, and icy. Everything glittered in the headlights, and where the moon shone through the trees. “You forget how dark it is,” was all I said, more to myself, than anyone else.

It was about four am when we reached the little chalet, running quickly inside it. I didn’t get much of a chance to notice anything about it. Francesca never bothered to turn any lights on, and I just followed her. The bed was already made up, and we didn’t waste anytime struggling out of our clothes, and into bed, giggling like naughty children all the while, despite the cold, shivering against the clammy blankets. I didn’t think twice about getting into bed with her, cuddling in close and laughing as the bed slowly warmed up around us. It just felt natural, as if we always did this.

I was up first the next morning, and the dawn was just starting to break through the trees. I dressed quickly in the cold, just putting on the clothes I'd shed last night. It took me a few minutes to work out the stove, but it already had kindling in it, so that was OK. Within about ten minutes I had a pot of coffee, and a pot of tea on, ready to go in the thermos flasks we’d brought with us. Breakfast was ready maybe ten minutes after that. I’m not helpless. I can do stuff, I'm just too lazy to half the time.

The day outside, was clear, but frosty. There was a thermometer on the wall, informing me that outside it was -1C. I figured that Francesca must have put it there. I had no idea what it meant, except for it must be cold.

Great.

Everything was ready. I found some plates and a tray, and carried it through to the bedroom. There was no nightstand to set it down on, so I laid it on the floor while I woke up Francesca. She went through her usual morning routine of confused and grumpy, but I didn’t care. For some reason I felt really happy, in a way I hadn’t for a very long time. I put the tray beside her once she’d sat up, and sat next to her on the bed. We had it in silence, apart from a mumbled “thanks” from Francesca. It wasn’t one of those awkward silences, don’t get me wrong. It was really nice.

I took the stuff through when we were finished, heated up some water on the stove and washed it. By the time I was finished, she was dressed and ready to go. I passed her rucksack to her, opened the door and off we went.

The cold was a shock, but there was something different about it. I was too used to it in a city. In the city, there’s traffic noise and people shouting and sirens going off in the distance. Even the places I used to hide as children were close to the river, but I could still hear the boats go past, and they’d toot to each other, and to the kids waving to them on the bank. It was never really quiet, just less noisy.

But here, there was nothing, just our feet pounding the path. The earth was frozen solid, and our feet hit the ground with a steady thud. I hadn’t expected that. I’d thought they’d be muffled. At the back of my mind, I was convinced a grizzly was following us. Either that, or my heart had got itself a mike, and was broadcasting to the universe.

Francesca set a fairly fast pace, stopping now and then along the way to pick up decent sized cones that had fallen off the tree, or cutting greenery from them with a pair of small secaturs. I was grateful for the pauses. She wasn’t hard to keep up with, but I wasn’t used to this kind of terrain, with a heavy-ish load on my back and I felt it start to hurt in odd places. My shoulders, lower back, calves. My lungs were stinging with the fresh air. 

We’d been going for about two hours when she suggested we stop. I sat down kind of heavily, began taking flasks and stuff out of the rucksack. “Are you sure there isn’t a grizzly following us?” I asked, nervously, looking round.

“No, they’re all hibernating. I’ve told you this already. Pass the one with the tea over,” Francesca held out her hand and I really saw her for the first time. Her eyes were shining, her cheeks stung red with the cold and the effort. Hair escaping from the casual pony tail. Perfect advert for the apple pie girl.

She took the tea from me. “How’re you doing?” She was grinning.

“Everything hurts like fuck, and you know it,” I began grinning back. “I feel like I should be having a heart attack.”

“It’s just that fresh clean mountain air. Your chest might feel like it's about to explode, but how out of breath are you?”

I had to admit I wasn’t.

“You’re just breathing more deeply, and with better stuff. In about another hour you’ll start coughing like a smoker, but you won’t feel ill.”

A twig snapped behind us, and I jumped out my skin. “Are you sure about the bears? Maybe they wake if they’re hungry.”

“That wasn’t a bear, that was Bigfoot.” She sipped her tea, completely unworried. “You tend not to notice them so much in the summer. More vegetation about, I suppose.”

“Bigfoot!? The fuck? That’s not funny. You ever seen one?”

“I’ve not seen one, but something followed me in the summer, and when I backtracked, the print wasn’t anything I recognised,” she replied, considering. “I’ve spoke to other folk who’ve had similar experiences. It happens more than people prefer to say. I’ve never actually spoke to anyone that saw anything, and when you do come across such stories, it always happened to a friends’ neighbours’ cat’s dog’s mother, so it’s probably not the most reliable source.”

“Right.” I looked around more nervously than I did before. What the hell was that shadow?

“It is interesting, that you’ve not dismissed anything I've said. I’d’ve put you down more as the rational type.” She wiped the cup round and passed it back to me. I put everything away as quickly as I could, checking that my off duty firearm was where I could reach it. “Well, cops do see a lot a stuff that we can’t easily explain. Every dept has its share of X-Files, haunted buildings. Phantom cops and cop cars. Wouldn’t be the first time we’ve had to get the chaplains to bless desks and things.”

“Crash Corner,” said Francesca. I nodded. “Blessing that never worked though.” Crash Corner is an intersection in the 8th with the highest number of accidents in the city, for no real reason that anyone can work out. People hear and see accidents on it at the middle of the night, even when they haven’t happened. The lights and electrics of the nearby buildings never seem to work right either.

We got up, and got moving again. I had this vision in my head of the three of us walking along the path, single file, woman, man, Sasquatch. Regular little Scooby-Doo episode. The local sheriffs' dept would have some really interesting files. I walked a little faster to keep up with her. 

“Of course wolves, coyotes and mountain lions don’t hibernate. We’re close enough to Canada for them to be running around here. It’s not like the borders are fenced off.” Francesca said conversationally. “You do know how to deal with them, don’t you?”

“No,” I replied, walking a little faster, which wasn’t easy. 

“You make a huge noise and put up a big fight. Make yourself as hard to attack as possible. Never run, then you’re prey. But if you look fit and healthy, and like you could do damage, they’ll think twice about going for you.” She kept up with me easily.

“What about bears?” I asked.

“Bears, you roll up in a ball, and hope they leave you with fingers. Mace is good with bears. By the time they’ve recovered, you should be long gone.” She patted a pocket. “I always carry Mace, where I can get it easy.”

“I’ll remember that for next time.”

“Next time? What, you’d come out again?” Francesca was laughing, and I could tell that she didn’t believe me.

“Yeah, despite everything, I'm enjoying myself,” I replied. “It’s just so different, it’s hard to believe that that the city exists.”

“And when you’re in the city, it’s like here doesn’t exist. I thought you’d miss the noise, and the bustle and the crowds.”

“Oh, yeah, it’s one hell of a culture shock, but I'm getting used to it. It’s like being the last two people on Earth.”

Francesca almost stopped as she went into hysterics. “What?” I demanded, really irritated. “I’m trying to share this with you! It’s a really big thing for me, and all you can do is laugh!”

“Why don’t you just think about what you just said?”

“What?”

“About us being the last people on earth.” She was still sniggering, as what she meant finally caught up with me.

“Oh, yeah, funny. You know exactly what I meant.”

“Oh, chill. Only fifteen months and you get rid of me. You’ll actually start to notice things back in the city, as well. You’ll start noticing the squirrels and where the birds nest. You’d be surprised at what nests on the side of an apartment block. Sets you up for the day.” She looked in the plastic bag she’d being using to put the cones and branches in, before looking at the sky. “I think we’ve got enough. It’ll be dark in a couple of hours.” 

“Yeah, let’s go back,” I agreed. 

When we got back, and we’d eaten, we made up the decorations, chatting away about this and that, y’know, the sort of conversation that goes where it goes, crap mostly. Sasquatches, and bears and the fifteen months that we had left together.

I told her that Monroe had noticed the difference in me since we’d been together. 

“Well, marriage always suits men better than women. Besides, it’s a big thing that you’re doing for me. I had to pull my weight somehow. Still worked out better than I thought it would. I thought we’d have killed each other in the first month.” She stabbed some florist wire into the oasis. “It must be hard for you as well. What, with you signing the pledge an’ all.” 

“What? Ow!” I’d stabbed myself in the thumb. “I never signed the pledge. I still go out for a drink.”

Francesca looked at my thumb. “You’ll live. When I met you, you were well on in your personal quest to pleasure the ladies of your good city. I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or insulted when I wasn’t among their number.”

“Is that your way of calling me a whore? Yeah, I miss it, but I don’t want to get you deported. Otherwise, the hell of a clean house, home cooked food and no sex would all be for nothing.” I picked my next words carefully. “So what are you going to do when the time’s up?” For some reason, I didn’t want think that she had plans past next year. I didn’t want to hear them, but it would look weird if I said that.

“I might try for detective. Or maybe see about sitting my sergeant’s exams.”

“You’d make a good detective.” I hadn’t realised I'd been holding my breath. “You’d say this was working out, wouldn’t you?”

“Ow!” Now Francesca had stabbed her thumb. “What, you and me? Yeah, we get along.”

“Well, it’s stupid to end it just because times’ up. Makes more sense to me to carry on as things are - “

“What, until something better turns up?” She was concentrating very hard on winding the florists wire around the cone she’d just dipped in glitterpaint.

“I didn’t mean it like that. But if you want to end it, then we can. But look at it this way. The longer we’re together, the harder it ever is to challenge your nationality. Like I say, if you meet someone five years down the line, I'll sign the papers. You won’t get any trouble from me.”

“What if it’s you who meets someone else? You seem to have the better deal here.” 

“In some ways, yeah, some ways, no,” I replied. “Yeah, I have a clean house, good food. But I got a real good friend in you, and I don’t want to lose that. If we split come the two years, I'll lose that. It won’t be the same as this.”

Francesca shrugged. “I think we’ve done enough. I’m going to bed. Let this dry overnight.” She left the room without another word. 

I waited for about another hour, when I guessed she’d be asleep. I crept into the bedroom, debating on whether or not climb in beside her. Eventually I did. I fell asleep immediately. 

We drove back the next morning in silence.

We didn’t really talk for the next few weeks. We kind of avoided each other, both of us working overtime. We even decorated the tree in silence. I half wished I'd kept my mouth shut. I should have brought this up nearer the time. Now all she thought I wanted was a skivvy.

Then again, maybe it was better being out in the open. At least, that was Monroe’s opinion on Christmas Eve. Now, she reasoned, I'd have a whole year to work Francesca round to the idea, and prove her wrong.

“Ya think?” I’d said.

“I think,” she’d said, decisively. 

“Should I talk to her, or-?”

“Oh, God, no!” Monroe had said firmly. “You only open your mouth to change feet. You gotta show her.”

“How do I do that? She’s not the hearts and flowers type, and neither am I.”

“Yeah that is a problem. Maybe you should just keep on being you,” Monroe said thoughtfully.

“She thinks I'm an asshole.”

“Yeah, but she knows you’re an asshole. That’s what Francesca is used to. If you start trying to change, she’ll know something’s up. But if you remain your usual charming self she’ll see it's real.” She shrugged. “That’s what I think.”

I got home to my mom phoning me about Christmas. We’d arranged for her to come to us, as it was our first Christmas. She was going to stay the night, which would mean that Francesca and I were going to have a share a bed, something we’d not done since we’d been away. I texted Francesca to this effect, and got back a reply that just said “OK.”

What the hell was that supposed to mean, I wanted to yell at her. Not that that would have got me anywhere. She’d just have done more overtime, or found something to watch on the TV.

I’d always liked that when a couple argue the woman punishes a man for whatever, she stops talking to him. You got peace. I never worked out why that was a problem. Now I had.

It wasn’t that she was ignoring me, it was just that she was being civil to me. She never spoke unless she had to, and she had stopped sitting so close to me on the couch, which she’d been in the habit of doing. It was too damn quiet.

But I didn’t like it. I missed her, and how we’d been. And I couldn’t tell her.

Christmas was going to fun. And what’s worse, I didn’t think I could hide it in front of my mom. 

And suddenly there it was. Christmas came in like a freight train. We’d arranged that I'd go and get Mom at around 4, 4.30 because we were both pulling a 2nd watch shift, filling in for some people that had kids and wanted to be there in the morning. It kept us away from each other, which was probably a good thing. We’d have no time alone until Mom came, and the time we did, Francesca would be busy in the kitchen. We were having steak and potatoes and a side salad, and she’d made this cheesecake. 

Man, you should have seen it. 6 layers, strawberries, homemade cookie base, all mixed together with honey. Cream, caramel. No one was going to be on Atkins in our house that night. Mom was bringing over beer and wine from the bar, and those Bacardi Breezers that Francesca was so fond of.

We were going to give out the presents right after dinner. Save rushing things beforehand. Coupla hours of presents and pretending we liked them, then sit dozing off in front of the TV.

That was pretty much how it turned out, except for the part where Mom actually liked what Francesca had picked for her, and vice versa. “How’d you managed that?” I asked, amazed. 

“We gave each other a list, and told each other to pick stuff off it,” replied Mom. “That way I still get a surprise, but I like what I'm getting, and the same for Francesca.”

“Well, you did give me the idea, honey,” said Francesca, kissing me on the cheek. She was certainly sticking to her part of the agreement. There was no way my Mom would have worked out that we weren’t a real couple

“Yeah, I can’t believe you got him out the city, Francesca. It must be love,” said Mom, fairly working her way through the Bacardi Breezers. She was really taken by the pineapple one, which was just as well, Francesca couldn’t stand it.

“I got my ways, Rose, but I'm guessing that you won’t want to hear about them!” She grinned, with a hint of naughtiness in her eyes.

“I don’t care, as long as they involve grandkids before I'm too old! I was already pregnant when I got married. It’s disgraceful these days, people waiting to start families!” Mom winked conspiratorially at Francesca.

“Mom!” I protested, outgunned here. “Francesca has her career to think about. Maybe in a couple of years, if neither one of us gets eaten by a Bigfoot.”

“Well, why can’t she have them now, and you can quit work to look after them. That way Francesca has her career, both of you have a family, and I have grandkids.” Mom was like a stampede of buffalo when she started.

“Oh, I think that’s a very good idea,” Francesca agreed, playfully. “I’ll give that one serious thought. You up for it, babe?”

“We’ll see,” I replied, trying to put a stop to their nonsense, and not doing too great a job of it.

At about 11pm Mom stood up, and announced she was going to bed. “Thanks for a lovely day, and the presents.”

“It’s our pleasure, Rose. Are you sure that you want to go to bed so soon? I was just about to open a bottle of wine, and finish off the Christmas cake,” Francesca had stood up to hug Mom, who shook her head. “Nah. I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it. Keep the noise down, eh? I’m an old lady and I need my sleep.”

“Mom!” I protested, but Francesca just laughed. “I’ll try, but I can’t promise.”

I didn’t know who to be more shocked at, as mom kissed me goodnight, and Francesca said she was going for a shower. Mom winked at me, as she went to bed. I got myself a beer, and a Bacardi Breezer for Francesca, then sat down to watch the TV. I flicked through until I found a channel that was running old Warner Bros and MGM cartoons.

Francesca wasn’t long in the shower. She never was. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her come out of the bathroom in a pair of cotton vest top pyjamas. I’d seen them before. They must have been fairly old, because the colours were faded. She was combing her hair through, and was about to put it in a pony tail, when the scrunchie snapped with a loud ping. “Oh, fuck it,” I heard her mutter. 

I glanced up then, and saw her, 

Her nipples were standing erect, tight against the old cotton, the skin of her shoulders and face flushed from the hot water. She bent over, ran her fingers through her hair, then tossed it up sharply, so it fell fanned over her shoulders, curling darkly down her back. I had never seen her with it down before.

She saw the TV, and gave a small squeal of delight. “Tom ‘n’ Jerry!” She jumped onto the settee beside me. I passed her drink. “Thanks,” she smiled, and then I can’t remember how the hell it happened, but suddenly we were kissing. I mean it was that quick. There was none of the gooey-eyed shit that you get on TV or the movies. It was just...bang!

I don’t remember thinking anything at all. Maybe my mind wasn’t, but my body was. It hadn’t forgotten how to act. Thank God for instincts.

I suddenly found my hands in her hair, it was warm and wet and heavy in my fingers, pushing her mouth against mine, kissing her hard. Tongues slipping and sliding past each other. I could feel the length of her body pressed tightly to mine, her arms round my back pulling us closer. I could feel her nipples hard against my chest, through the fabric of my T-shirt. My body was in overdrive after being celibate for so long. 

And so was she. I felt my t being pulled up my back. It didn’t take us long to strip each other, and then we were naked. She broke off from my mouth to look at my body, running a hand over my prick. I held my breath, as she paused, then started to pump it slow. I tore her hand away, interlacing our fingers, kissing her so hard I bit her lip, making it bleed. I wasn’t going to come after all these months from a handjob. She mounted me, and suddenly I was tight inside my wife. I broke off from her mouth to kiss the rest of her face, down her throat to where her blood thundered. I licked the pulse, felt it pound under my touch.

Francesca pushed me down, lying on top of me. My head was on one of the arms, and my feet on the other, my legs bent. It made it easier for me rock up against her, trapped as she was by the way she was lying on top of me. I had one hand wrapped in her hair, the other I played over her body, gently at first, until she squealed. “Harder?” I breathed, and she nodded once in reply. I ran my hand across her skin, firmly, marking her. She arched her body, shaking. I moved further down her throat, between her breasts, down to the skin of her stomach, the curve of her waist. Down past her hip, the top of her legs, a little skip to the inner thighs. 

So I got the better end of the deal, did I? Let's see what we could do about that, even things up a little.

There was barely any room for my free hand, but I didn’t let that stop me. I ran two fingers gently around her inner lips, then firmly slid them in, stretching her pussy even further, pressing the heel of my hand to her clit. Francesca gasped, loudly and jumped, trying to move away from my fingers. I kept with her, grinding my hand against the swollen tissues, trapping her, timing hand and prick together. She was shuddering so hard. She was trying to sit up, separate us but I held on tight to her hair, keeping our faces and bodies close. I wanted to see her face, feel her whole body move against me. Francesca wasn’t going to take that from me.

I looked along her writhing body, back arched so strongly. I looked into her eyes, watched the looks on her face. I could hear her gasps and sighs change in pitch, getting louder and higher, feel her muscles clamp around my fingers. It’s just the best feeling in the world to know that you can do this to your lover. Francesca suddenly went rigid, then shook harder than she been, almost screamed. My hand, my dick felt the whole area contract and pulse around them, repeatedly. 

I kept up the pressure, keeping Francesca tight to me. I moved on to my knees, pulling her on to my lap. My hand stayed pressed to her, in her, her tongue sliding against mine, feeling the cry in her throat as her arms and legs tightened around me. 

I broke off and pulled back for a moment. I wanted, needed to see her face. Most of all I wanted to remember how she looked right now. The moment stretched out. My eyes drank in every minute detail of her face, the sharp cheekbones, the sweep of lashes over eyes dark enough to be black, down to the uneven upper lip, past the dimple to the small scar on her chin.

Francesca tried kiss me, but my hands stopped her. 

“Say my name when you come,” I whispered. Francesca nodded, and I almost threw her against the back of the settee, slamming into her as hard as I could. She half-moaned, half-screamed my name. 

And her face... It was beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it before or since. Everything she was feeling swept over her face. The only thing that was real to her at this moment was her body, and mine. 

We were the last two people in the world

The same was true for me. I kissed her hard and deep, in time to my thrusts, loving the feel of her movement against me. 

I could feel everything. Each little jerk (Fuck!) each spasm (Please!) each gasp. Each half scream she made in her throat (Don’t stop. Omigod!) when I pulled away to watch her. Finally, I felt the feeling build and explode, with more force behind it than when I'd been watching her. White light danced behind my eyes, and I didn’t bother to bite back the yell. 

I probably woke the whole building, but I didn’t give a shit.

I held Francesca close, as the shudders subsided. 

Francesca never replied, simply snuggled beside me, into the crook of my arm. It fitted to her as if it had been made for her. I felt something on her shoulder that I hadn’t noticed before. It was a burn, about the size of a $ bill. “How’d you get that?” I asked, more for something to say, than anything else. I didn’t want to sleep I was keyed up by what had just happened. I deserved to bathe in the afterglow.

“Pot of tea when I was a toddler. I’m lucky it's not worse. It doesn’t bother me. Got a scar under my chin as well. Fell off a bike when I was six.”

I tipped up her chin, and saw the centimetre round scar again. “So that’s how you got them. You’ve got better at riding your bike since then, huh?” 

Francesca laughed. “I’m going to get myself a tattoo,” she said. “Something that’s tough, brave and intelligent. A dragon maybe.”

She considered this for a while. “Yeah, I’ll get a dragon.”

I leaned over and kissed her again, gently at first, then deeper. I was ready to go again. If celibacy does this for staying power, I’d recommend it.

“Already?” Francesca laughed. She got a wicked glint in her eye, and turned over onto her stomach. “Why don’t you pick where the Tattoo goes?”

Something felt different, the next morning.

I ran through a mental checklist. I could feel the blankets against my skin, which meant I was naked. That was different. I was in my own room with my arm draped over a warm body and long hair trailing over my face. This was nothing new. Francesca had tended to snuggle up to me. Thought we’d not been on speaking terms for a few weeks.

What was new was that she was as naked as I was.

And I was real sore in my nether regions. 

Which meant that last night had actually happened.

WHOA!!

I sat myself up slightly, as much as I could without disturbing her, watched her. I looked at the time on the alarm clock.

5.30 am. I’d only slept for two hours, but I wasn’t tired. I was torn between letting her sleep on, or waking her up. What if she regretted last night? I winced. Christ, I was raw. Ow.....

I didn’t. I meant everything, but she might not. She might, and that’s a whole other story. There was no easy way out of this. 

And why am I over analysing this? There’s plenty time for things to sort themselves out.

I was always one for living in the moment, so maybe I should do that now....

I went back to sleep.

When I woke up again, the bed was empty. I couldn’t hear Francesca around the apartment. I got up, tested the water in the kettle. It was cold. I looked out the window, saw her Land Rover was gone. My chest felt really tight, like I was having a panic attack. OK, I told myself, calm down. She was fine last night, she probably just panicked. The past 24 hours was a big thing to get her head around. I was having the same problem. Let her calm down, and come home in her own good time.

But what if all this was because she thought it was all some ploy to get her stay, or she thought that I hadn’t meant it? Maybe she needed to hear three little words? Maybe she didn’t want to hear them and was worrying that I would say them? Maybe she was worrying I wouldn’t say them? I knew I wasn’t in love, but I didn’t want to lose her. Hell, I wanted her to be the mother of my kids - the fuck?

Did I just say that? I didn’t want to lose my best friend, who I didn’t love, but didn’t want to divorce, who helped keep my apartment clean, cooked my meals, who I'd just had the best sex of my life with, who I didn’t love, but wanted to look at my children, and see her in them.

No wonder she’d legged it. I didn’t know what the hell I wanted, how the hell was Francesca supposed to?

I sat around until it was time for work. I tried texting her, but got no answer. I didn’t phone her. I didn’t know what the hell I was going to say. Come home? What to? Don’t come home? My Mom had come out of her room, and sat with me, letting me talk, tell her what had happened. When I finished she was silent for a long time. 

Then. “You stupid bastard.” 

“I know I am.” It was the best answer I could give, even though I'd hoped she’d more supportive than that. “I don’t know what to do, Mom.”

“You gotta find Francesca. Before you blow your chances altogether.”

“What? I don’t even know if we have a chance, Mom.” I replied. I felt like slitting my throat. Merry fucking Christmas.

“And that’s why you’re a stupid bastard. You can’t fucking see what’s under your nose. You’ve done all the running so far, so run a little more.” Mom shook her head. “Are you sure you’re mine?”

I just cradled my head in my hands. “You’re not helping.”

“You’re not listening. Think, boy! She’s due at work as well, right?”

I nodded.

“Is Francesca likely to miss it?”

“How the fuck do I know? Ow!” I yelped as my mother smacked me upside the head. “What was that for?”

“Stupidity. She's had a shock, she’ll need to keep a routine, and where ever she is, she’ll most likely turn in for work.”

It did make sense. It was better than sitting round our apartment.

By the time I'd taken mom home I was late, and missed role-call. Monroe had our assignments. It took me until meal break before I noticed that she was as uncharacteristically quite as I was. She didn’t say anything when I said we’d best go to Burger King for our break, she just bought the burgers and fries without a comment.

It dawned on me then. “Francesca is staying with you.” I said simply.

“Yeah.” Monroe replied.

“Is she OK?”

“She’s in one piece, but her head’s all over the place. If you got anything to say to her, you’d better say it soon or you’ll lose your chef, and I'll have to get used to you being an asshole again.”

“I don’t know what I'm going to say to her, but I'm coming back with you after the shift. Maybe I'll have her at hello.”

The rest of the shift crawled round to 11pm. I looked for Francesca coming in to get changed. She swept past me, ignoring me, and I stalled. I didn’t know what to say.

She was taking off her uniform. It was one of those moments when it was quiet, and I heard myself speak. “I got a two bedroom apartment. I don’t cook, I got a colour TV. I forget to do things, anniversaries, birthdays, Christmas. When I'm on a job, I'm gone for days at a time.” I walked over to her, everyone frozen to the spot. Francesca was looking at me like a deer caught in headlights. “I get drunk, I yell at the people I love. But what do you say, huh? What do you say?”

The startled look had left her face, to be replaced by a little smile. But her eyes were shining, and her cheeks were flushed as if she’d been out in the wilds as she said, “Well, kinda got used to having you around.”

I picked up her bag, and as I walked out of the changing room with my wife, I heard a voice say, “What the fuck was that all about?”


End file.
